Updates on updates on updates.

Power sessions in writing are great when the blood is flowing and I have the itch to write, so I thought I would use the time in the beginning of the semester before my workload intensifies to update this fic once more. Y'all are so patient with me and my schedule, soI hope you enjoy this update being up much quicker than my normal speed! Hooray for the writing bug biting me on the ass and making me use all of this creative energy!

Thank you for all of the kind words in reviews, and the alerts added to this story. My little heart can barely take it when I get emails after an update, but it is a great feeling to know people are reading this story. Hearts for all of you!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Bleach, and any likeness to Sendai or Architects for Humanity is also borrowed.

WARNING, PLEASE READ BEFORE STARTING THE CHAPTER: Even if this does not pertain to you, I want you to read this and be aware. There will be a description of a panic attack in this chapter. If for any reason you do not think you can handle that, I want you to skip down to the second section, starting after the "X" that serves as a page breaker. I have experienced panic attacks, and I know they can come up at unexpected times for different types of stressors, so if you think a description of one could cause one of your own to stir up, I suggest you just skip the first section. I don't think my writing of this event will give anyone a reaction (I handled it without any problem, though descriptions are not usually my stressor/trigger) and I do not believe it is extreme enough to do so, but I want you to be aware so if you are the type of person that this applies to, you will know beforehand and can protect yourself. Also, I know these attacks differ for different people, so I'm using my own experience to draw on for this description. It may differ from other accounts, but it was what I was comfortable with describing.

With that said, I hope you all enjoy this update!

Chapter 7

Ichigo was doing his best to hold himself together, but he was failing. He had barely made it back to his apartment, shaking as he was, stumbling up the stairs with a heaviness that he hadn't felt in years. He had plastered on a tired smile as Orihime and Tatsuki came into view, standing by his door as they awaited for him to get there. After all, he was late. Not only had he gone longer on the site, but it had taken him a good ten minutes to remember how to walk.

The girls had teased him, the dark-haired girl particularly loud in her complaints for his tardiness, but when he didn't tease back they had known something was wrong.

Only a stomach ache, he has said, paired with a little bit of overheating. Probably from too many paint fumes in a house without a decent ventilation system, he guessed, though he knew the paint was not what had nausea threatening to override his senses.

But they had taken the excuse without question, ushering him into his apartment and suggesting he lie down, Tatsuki rummaging through the kitchen for something to coat his stomach and a glass of water to wash the medicine's taste out of his mouth afterwards. She had called out that throwing up might actually make his feel better as Orihime grabbed him a change of clothes, convincing him to give her the dirty jeans and tee shirt so she could wash them for him.

Ichigo barely had time to hide the worn out flyer from their sight, tucking it behind his back as he had reached the landing and placing it into the drawer of his bedside table as the orange-haired girl pulled out a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top after Ichigo told her where they were located.

But once the girls were gone, assured that he would be fine and told they should still go try that steakhouse and see if it was worth all of the hype, his fingers itched to feel that paper in his hands once more. Only after he had changed and taken the medication – because regardless of the reason, his felt on the verge of vomiting at any moment and was willing to take anything to keep the sickness at bay – did he allow his hands to slide into the drawer and remove the flyer once again.

It had barely come off of the bulletin board, the rain and humidity acting as an adhesive between it and the fibers in the paper, but it was mostly intact. It was only a picture and information. How tall Hanatarou was, his age, address and place of business. At the very bottom a phone number had been hastily written in pen, probably copied on multiple flyers of the man at the time, with a note to call if anything was found out about the man's whereabouts.

For a few minutes, Ichigo could only hold his head in his hands, focusing on his breathing. It was best to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, right? Had that been what the therapist had told him? How high had he been told to count? Ten seemed too short, but one hundred seemed excessive. Perhaps he should meet in the middle and count to fifty. If he could only calm himself down, let the feeling pass, he'd be alright. But he couldn't recall a past attack where he had managed to calm himself alone, and that fact only fueled the fire of dread that burned through him.

He considered calling his father, knowing the man was well aware of how to calm him down, but couldn't bring himself to reach for his phone where it lay on his dresser. His father was not just a few minutes away this time, and calling him only to realize he was still alone in his apartment without any way of having the older man get to him in time made his gut clench painfully. If he called, it might just make it come on faster. He wanted to try and control it first.

Counting. He can manage counting. He'll go to fifty.

But even as he started, he could feel the telltale sensation of water around his ankle, making his breath come in sharper intakes and shakier exhales. It always started at his ankles, working his way up just like it had when he had stepped into the water. Cold water wrapped around his feet, and like ghostly hands trailed up his skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. It made it all the way to his knees before he was up and pacing, his breaths now reduced to gasps as he fended off his panic attack.

"Fuck" he muttered, almost a whine, as fear set in.

The anxiety was never easy to escape, and Ichigo often wondered it if just sat dormant in the pit of his stomach, waiting for a trigger before rising up and trying to strangle him. Pacing only made the fear spread, but the motion kept the water away, and right now that was better than nothing. A hand fisted in his hair as he closed his eyes once more, starting the count again.

One…two…three…

Closing his eyes had been a bad idea. Now the man's face had filled his mind, and Ichigo could do nothing but watch as the man screamed out, water filling his mouth and nose before he disappeared beneath the current and out of sight.

He forced his eyes open and tried his very best to keep his breathing normal. He had to remain calm.

"Fuck," he repeated, his tone sharper this time around. Calm was becoming a more difficult state of mind with every passing second.

Ten…eleven…twelve…

Ichigo could feel the sour taste of bile as it rose into the back of his throat. A whine left him, the pacing becoming much faster. The movement was starting to effect his stomach now, rocking the lunch he had consumed earlier back and forth violently, only adding to the feeling of nausea. He tried to slow, but he could feel the water once more, this time around his thighs, and he fell back into his pacing to keep it away. With quick steps he made his way to the kitchen, opening the cabinet that served to hold his medication and pulled out the prescription bottle that held his anxiety medicine. The rattle of the pills alone was enough to have his heart speeding up. Clutching it in his hand like a lifeline, he made his way back to the room.

Twenty-seven…twenty-eight…twenty-nine…

He could remember the last attack he had experienced, six months after the disaster. Yuzu had been home, and the girl had been brilliant, jumping into action and keeping the panic from overwhelming him. The trigger had been nothing major, the slight shake of the house as a large truck had rumbled past, but Yuzu had gone to look for him immediately. She had found him lying on the bathroom floor, curled in on himself with eyes wide and unseeing, and had talked him down from his anxiety until he regained the ability to recognize where he was. He had thanked her a week later, too embarrassed to have said his appreciation at the time. He was the older brother, after all. He wasn't supposed to be weak. But she had only smiled, stating with a note of encouragement that he was getting better, that he had only given in for thirty minutes that time. It was those words that kept him strong, her smile enough to make him more determined than ever to keep his fears restrained. He had had moments since then, where he was sucked into memories, but until now he had been free of anxiety attacks.

He set the bottle of pills down, knowing he should take it but afraid to do so when the churning in his stomach was only getting worse. He wanted to see if he could get a grip on himself before he used them. They wouldn't work immediately, anyways, not when he was already so deep into an attack, and if he threw up it would be a waste. God forbid he ran out of medication because he couldn't keep it down.

Thirty-four…thirty-five…thirty-six…

The ache in his ribs demanded attention, and his fingers trailed over his side subconsciously. It would always start acting up when he had an attack, as if his ribs were breaking all over again. The puckered scar tissue above his eyebrow burned as well, competing to be noticed, but the ribs had a one up on the facial scar. The ache in his side was making it harder to breathe, constricting his chest until it felt like his lungs were on fire, reducing him to panting. He groaned and whined and swore under his breath as he clutched at the collar of his tank, tugging it away from his neck though he knew it would do no good in his fight for oxygen, though it may help cool his skin that had broken into a sweat. His clothing was beginning to stick to him.

Forty-two…forty-three…

He lost count as he felt the rush of heat on his face paired with the feeling of vomit as it crept up his esophagus, and he rushed to his bathroom on shaky legs, one hand outstretched to grab ahold of anything he could to make sure he didn't topple over. He barely made it to the toilet, throwing the lid up and sinking down to his knees just in time to spill the contents of his stomach into the bowel with a loud retch. All he could do was hold on as he heaved, throat burning and eye pricking with tears as his breathing was cut off completely, leaving him to gasp between each gag.

He didn't know how long he had sat there in the floor, having lost track of how many times his gag reflex had been activated. When his stomach was emptied, and his muscles had stopped contracting in their attempts to push his stomach up his throat and out of his body, he collapsed against the side of the bowel, pressing his forehead against the cool porcelain and relishing the relief it provided as he caught his breath.

Tatsuki was right. He did feel better now.

X

"Orihime, you need to eat."

The girl looked up at Tatsuki's words, smiling sheepishly as the dark-haired girl rose narrowed her eyes.

"I am eating," she tried to defend herself, knowing her untouched food proved her words to be false. But it was a habit trying to assure people that she was fine, that she was a functioning member of society, so ingrained that it was automatic even when it was just her and Tatsuki. To her credit, Tatsuki had long been able to see through the bullshit.

Her friend only rolled her eyes, munching on her own steak. "He's fine, 'Hime."

The orange-haired girl sighed, knowing she was caught in her worry. But it was hard not to worry for Ichigo when he had shown up like that. "He didn't look fine," Orihime muttered, forcing herself to at least move the food around on her plate.

"He said it was just a stomachache."

Now it was Orihime's turn to roll her eyes. "I used to have 'stomachaches' all the time, and you never let me pretend that was all that was bothering me."

"How do we know he's just not prone to sickness?" her friend countered, shoveling more food into her mouth as if they were talking about the weather. "For all we know, he could have been a sickly child who had to take a plethora of pills every day and avoid too much expose to the sun."

"Really, Tatsuki," Orihime chided softly. "Ichigo is not sickly, and the two of us can spot a panic attack when we see it coming. I know you saw it."

It was the fear in Ichigo's eyes, wild and unpredictable. She had thought she was mistaken at first, trying to give the look another explanation, but the longer they were around him the more clear it had become. The man had been on the verge of losing it, and it was that desperation that had him sending them to dinner without him. He was pretending, just like she had done, like she does now, but the fear was there, churning just beneath the surface as visible to anyone who knew what to look for. Orihime had felt plenty of that type of fear first hand, and though it had been a while since her last attack, she was keenly aware of what Ichigo was going through, even if she didn't know what had set it off. It had been hard to leave him by himself, but Tatsuki had been adamant. They couldn't stay when he made it clear he wanted them gone during the attack.

Tatsuki lowered her gaze as she swallowed her food, shaking her head. "Look, if he had wanted us to know what he was going through, he would have told us."

"Would he?" Orihime challenged without looking up.

"We don't know him well enough to insist we help him with these, Orihime," Tatsuki said with a sigh. The sound was tinged with a type of sadness, and the buxom girl could see her friend's hesitance. "We can't very well force him to let us watch as he breaks apart. Our presence could make it worse if he doesn't trust us fully."

That was something Orihime knew all too well. She had only ever allowed Tatsuki to calm her down, leaving work multiple times to avoid the questions her coworkers would have if she would ever lose it in public. Some of them had seemed to know what was going on, tried to get her to open up to them, but she would assure them that she was fine with a fake smile that barely hid her anxiety before leaving as quickly as she could. She didn't need looks of pity or worry, and Tatsuki was the only one she truly trusted with those dark emotions.

Maybe that was a part of why she was so bothered by Ichigo sending them away. For the past two years, she had never been on the receiving end of one of those fake smiles, the empty assurances, but Ichigo had done just that. She wanted to be able to help him, to calm him down, but neither she nor Tatsuki couldn't do that for him. At least not yet.

She wondered if Tatsuki felt like this when she would assure her friend that she were okay when clearly she was not. The thought made her cringe, appreciating her best friend even more for her patience throughout the years. She would really have to break that habit of false assurance. It didn't work with Tatsuki anyway.

"I'm just worried," Orihime replied softly, poking at some rice as she broke the small silence that had fallen between them. "It makes me feel helpless, knowing he's in pain and knowing I can't do anything about it." She couldn't blame him for sending them away, knew better than anyone the reasons he would do so, but it didn't help settle her nerves.

It was hard enough watching someone experience an anxiety attack. It was even harder to stand by knowing it was happening but unable to provide comfort because they wouldn't let you in. These attacks made you feel like you were dying, and even if Ichigo was stronger than her, the attacks were stronger still.

"Hey," Tatsuki called out, gaining her attention. Orihime didn't realize how far into her thoughts she had gone until her friend's gaze met hers. She ducked her head a little in embarrassment, but Tatsuki only waved it off before continuing. "If you want, we can stop by after dinner tonight, just to check on him and see if his 'stomachache' is any better."

Tatsuki was more rational, but she was just as worried for the man who had quickly become their friend. At least Orihime knew she was not alone in that. Even if they couldn't be there for Ichigo during his breakdown, they could stop by and see if he needed help gluing the pieces back together. For now, it was better than nothing.

With a small nod, Orihime finally gave in to her hunger and ate, watching as Tatsuki grinned before returning to her own food.

X

It was a little while before Ichigo could find the strength to move from his crouched position in front of the toilet.

The anxiety had ebbed away slightly, leaving sore muscles and a headache, but it was still present under the momentary relief. The eye of the storm. He'd need that medication, and he needed it now, while he could keep it in his system.

Flushing the signs of sickness away, he pushed himself up and towards the sink, brushing his teeth and avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He didn't want to see if he looked as bad as he felt, though he was sure right now he would give vampires a run for their money in the battle of whose skin was the palest

He trudged back to the bed, pushing his damp hair out of his face where it had stuck to his forehead. He considered taking another dose of the nausea medication Tatsuki has provided – after all, he had just thrown it all back up before it could enter his system – but decided against it, choosing instead to toss back two of his anxiety pills with the water that remained in the glass. If the anxiety was controlled, there would be no need for the nausea meds. The flyer was placed back in the drawer, his eyes refusing to look at it for the time being until he was sure the attack had passed.

With a sigh, he grabbed his phone from the dresser, noting the time as he fell back onto the bed with his back pressed into the pillows. Quarter 'til seven. The girls had left for dinner without him about thirty minutes ago. Ichigo hummed at the realization that this attack had been one of the shorter ones. At least that was good news.

He fiddled with the phone, pressing the screen until his father's number appeared. He had promised a call tonight, and it had been a given that he'd call if he ever had an attack. It was more of a safety measure that had been set in place when he had first gotten home after the disaster, for the times his sisters were in school and he was left by himself with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. At the time, his thoughts were exactly what he needed to be kept away from, but life moves on, and he couldn't be watched constantly. His father had been his main source of control during that time, able to come to his aid quickly and calm him down. Usually he'd call before he slipped too far into panic, just as he had considered doing tonight. With a swipe of his finger, he connected the call. Better late than never.

Isshin picked up on the third ring.

"Ichigo! I was wondering when you'd call! I thought you'd be calling later, to be honest," the man greeted, a happy laugh bubbling out from his throat. "You just missed Karin and Yuzu. Karin's soccer match is starting in an hour, but you know how the coach wants them there early. Yuzu tagged along. Turns out she is going to run the clock tonight, and needed to go early to –"

"Dad," Ichigo cut in on his father's rant, knowing the man would go on forever if he let him. He cleared his throat when his first attempt to speak resulted in a cracked voice, and tried again. "Are you free to talk?"

There was a brief pause on the other line before Isshin spoke once more. "Ichigo? Son, what happened?"

The orange-haired boy took a deep breath, knowing if he didn't go about this slowly the attack could bubble back up. It was rare that it did that, but he was aware it was a possibility, and right now he was hoping the meds were doing their job and keeping things at bay. He covered his eyes with his arm as he forced himself to relax.

"I had an attack."

Immediately, his father responded. "You're coming home."

"Dad, no," Ichigo started, a frown growing on his features. But before he could continue, Isshin was speaking again, his tone urgent and nearing the edge of panic.

"No, Ichigo, you are leaving Sendai and coming home. The fact that you are having panic attacks again is enough to convince me that it is best that you leave. How long has it been since the last one? A year and a half?" Ichigo could picture the man fretting, pacing their living room back and forth. "And now you spend a few weeks in that place and have one? No, it is not safe for you to stay there."

"Dad, I can't just leave," Ichigo protested, glaring at the ceiling tiles of his bedroom. "It's fine. It's nothing I haven't had before, and it didn't last as long as some of the other ones."

For a moment, Isshin didn't speak, though Ichigo could hear him blowing air harshly out of his nose in an attempt to calm himself. Only once he had composed himself did he start again. "Alight. But I need to know what happened."

Ichigo sighed in relief as his small victory for the moment, before answering. "It kind of snuck up on me," Ichigo admitted. "I almost called you when it was first starting to affect me, but I thought I could push it back."

"You should have called," Isshin almost accused, but sighed and dropped the tension in his voice a moment later. "How long did it last this time?" Isshin asked, his voice falling into his professional tone, the one Ichigo had come to associate with the clinic.

"About forty minutes if you count from the exposure, close to six o'clock until just a few minutes ago." Ichigo stated calmly, knowing his father would consider the attack's start to be when he first encountered the flyer, his "exposure" this time. He glanced at the bedside table and caught sight of the orange prescription bottle. "I just took some of my medication to keep it from coming back around, at six forty-five. I'm resting now."

"Symptoms?"

Ichigo knew Isshin was aware of the symptoms, having dealt with this multiple times, but he listed them anyways. "Same as usual. Shortness of breath, nausea, phantom aches in my scars, the sensation of water, slight fever. Everything kind of calmed down once I threw up."

"Where are you now?" the older man questioned.

"My apartment. I got back here before it really hit me. The girls had already left by the time the anxiety kicked in."

"You sent them away?" Isshin asked, and he could hear the disapproval returning to his tone. Isshin knew of his friends, as Ichigo had talked about both the girls and his buddies at the job site, and he was a firm believer that people needed to know when an anxiety attack was about to happen.

"I didn't want to worry them," Ichigo start, cringing when his father sighed. He knew that was a shitty answer.

"Ichigo, you aren't supposed to hide these attacks. What if it would have been worse? What if you would have gotten injured?" It wasn't implausible to think such an attack could hurt him physically. He already had such a violent physical reaction as it was, but he could have slipped and fallen, or collapsed and been left unconscious for hours. Only once had that happened at the house in Karakura Town, slipping as he ran to the kitchen to get his pills and hitting his head hard on the cabinets on the way down. Karin had fortunately come home early from practice to find him sprawled out in the kitchen floor mere minutes after he had fallen, and Isshin had assured him after an examination that he had been spared a concussion.

He had been lucky that time, and he knew if anything made his father angry, sending the girls on to dinner without him would be it.

"They wouldn't have known what to do," Ichigo responded, knowing it was a weak excuse but also knowing it was too late to do anything about it. "And I've gone through these when I was alone before."

"Yes, but you've never had one alone while so far from home," the older man pointed out, but he dropped the complaint and moved on. Probably because he wanted to make sure Ichigo was calm before tearing into his ass for being so damn stupid. "What was the trigger?"

This was always the worst part of this conversation. It was necessary, but if anything made the anxiety creep back up, it was the trigger talk. Swallowing slowly, Ichigo began. "There's an announcement board between the job site and the apartment where people can post things. I usually don't pay it too much attention, but tonight I saw one, an older one, asking for information on a man that was lost in the disaster. Dad, it was him. It was the guy I tried to save."

The last few words were barely above a whisper as an intense sense of sorrow and lost settled on Ichigo's heart. Isshin sighed heavily on the other side of the line, and Ichigo could picture his rubbing his temple.

"I'm sorry, Son," Isshin started, knowing how this would affect his oldest child. Nevertheless, he tried his hand at reassuring Ichigo. "You know that wasn't your fault. You know you did everything you could."

"I know his name now," Ichigo commented, ignoring the words of comfort for the time being. "Hanatarou Yamada."

"Does that make things better or worse?" Isshin asked softly. "I'm not saying that to suggest it isn't important, but honestly, Ichigo, does knowing the man's name make it easier for you to handle this? Because if it doesn't, you need to really consider carefully whether or not you can stay there."

Ichigo knew his father was right. Knowing the man's name could have one of two effects: it could make coping easier or it could send him headlong into a relapse, something he would have to avoid at all cost. It had caused an attack, yes, but that was more from the shock. He had been unprepared to face his memories, but now that he knew the name, he could learn to control his reaction.

But how did he feel about it?

"If you don't think you can control it, Ichigo, I want you to come home," his father continued, the seriousness of his tone bringing Ichigo out of his thoughts. "I'm serious. It is not worth your health."

Ichigo knew he should consider his father's words, but the very thought of leaving now seemed to be too akin to running away from his problems. His father was not going to like his words, and he knew he'd have to be able to sell his thoughts. Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it with a soft pop, he sighed as he started his defense.

"I think I'm okay." That didn't sound very confident, but he wasn't very confident, so at least it was consistent. He was too frazzled to really know where he stood, but he didn't…he didn't feel the same way about this than he felt about other triggers. Other things, obvious things like swimming, were a no-brainer on the list of things to avoid, but Ichigo was almost relieved to know the man's name, to have information about him, to have a way to contact his family and let them know that he had tried. As terrifying as that information was, there was some sense of closure that came with it, a sense of control that he hadn't had before.

Still, Isshin had to be sure, and Ichigo had expected him to protest. "You think you are okay?" He could practically hear the disbelief in his father's voice, and it drew a chuckle out of Ichigo, further convincing the older man of his only son's insanity. "This is not funny, Son."

"I know it's not, Dad. But I really think I'm okay. I feel, relieved?" he supplied, shrugging. "I'm not sure of how to describe it, but it's not like the other times. I think I can control it."

"Are you absolutely sure?" Isshin continued. "Because if you can't, I will personally buy you a ticket for the next flight out, charity be damned."

If Ichigo's chuckled had been worrisome, his full on laugh was enough to have Isshin ready to commit the boy to an asylum, but Ichigo couldn't help himself. His father's persistence was usually bothersome, but tonight he just found it amusing. Perhaps I should call more often, Ichigo thought, as this change of heart was probably him missing home.

"Dad, I promise I'm fine. If it turns out I was wrong and it gets to be too much, I will take you up on that offer, but right now I'm going to stay." And as he said it, he knew it was the right decision for him. And if Isshin's tired sigh meant anything, his father knew it too.

"Alright, alright, I get it. You can stay. But listen, I want you to take another dose of that medication in four hours, and another in the morning if you wake up and feel off." Ichigo grinned at the sound of his father's advice, knowing he was in for quite the rant. Considering he had probably given the man a new worry by admitting the attack, he'd let him lecture him a little.

"If you need to skip work tomorrow, do it. It's charity. They will understand. And it's not like they can fire you if they don't get it, so take your health into consideration and do what's best for you, you got it? And for the love of God, Ichigo, if you ever feel another attack coming on get your ass up and go stay with someone or have someone come over. I don't care if you feel embarrassed by this or whatever, it's not fucking smart to isolate yourself with this sort of thing. And if they become more frequent, I will drag you home by your hair whether you like it or not. I don't need any more reasons to have grey hair at my young age, so promise me you'll confide in someone so I don't develop an ulcer from the worry."

"Young age?" Ichigo quipped, ignoring the man in favor of teasing him just a little bit.

"Ichigo. Promise me." The warning was clear.

"I promise," the boy gave in with a soft smile. "Fucking tyrant," he threw in, knowing Isshin would hear the tease in his tone. The humor would at least assure Isshin that much more that he was truly okay with staying.

"And don't you forget it," Isshin fired back, his voice much lighter than before. "I'm not too old to kick your ass into gear if I need to. Now, go rest. I'm about to head over to the field, but I will call you after the match. Your sisters have been dying to talk to their big brother, for some unconceivable reason."

"I'm just loveable," Ichigo said with a smirk, chuckling when his father released a loud snort.

"As loveable as a cactus, maybe."

"Well you are probably to blame for that, Goat Face, considering how you greeted me every morning of my childhood with an ambush."

"Oh, Misaki, our son is being so mean to me! If only you were here!"

Ichigo rolled his eyes at the familiar cry. Really, he should have expected that. "I'm hanging up now," he threatened with mock annoyance, though he couldn't keep the smile from his features. As much as his father's antics drove him up the wall at times, he truly missed him.

Isshin laughed, but calmed himself. "I'll call you later tonight, Son."

The call ended, and Ichigo laid his phone on the bed beside him, sighing as he sunk further into the pillows. He could feel the medication starting to kick in, a dullness starting in the front of his mind and spreading back. It wasn't a strong enough dose to leave him in a haze but just enough to calm his nerves, to allow him to function without being on edge. He didn't much like relying on them, only took them when the need presented itself, but he did admit that they helped when it got this bad.

He let his eyes slip closed, breathing in deeply. Maybe he could get a quick nap in before the next call.

I've read through this a couple of times, but I'm sure there are mistakes. Hope whatever mistakes here are not distracting.

Thanks for reading!

Much love,

Meg